


Knight In Shining Armor

by Cerialkiller



Series: Monarchy [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Rough Sex, Torture, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerialkiller/pseuds/Cerialkiller
Summary: Part 2 to 'Princess', it might be hard to follow without reading that first.Get ready for more emotional baggage, hurt, repressed feelings, but this time with slightly better writing!





	1. A Day In The Life

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, assuming you've read Princess, this is the continuation. The differences from the canon Sherlock universe are as follows:  
> John and Sherlocks parents are married  
> John and Sherlock are a couple (as hinted at in Princess)  
> Greg is Johns biological cousin  
> I started this series long before the revelation of Euros  
> Otherwise, it follows a similar path as the show. Enjoy!

It was a day like any other. Mycroft Holmes woke early, went for his morning run around the grounds, dressed, ate a light breakfast, and was on his way. He spent the day in debriefings, interrogations, for an hour he asked questions in the damp basement of an abandoned school building while someone else got dirty, and went to check on his younger brother before returning home.

John was there, answering the door when he arrived. "Ah, hello. Here to check in?" he asked dryly. John was none too fond of him these days, not since he had offered to pay the man who loved his brother to help him stay updated. But John had left and gone into the military when he turned 22, and since then Mycroft had been protective over his little brother. In a fight a few years back John had called his protectiveness 'a need to control'. As if he, of all people, was controlling.

"Yes. I heard that Sherlock helped with a police matter today. That's the second case this week. This won't become a regular thing, will it?" John's body was leaning against the doorframe, blocking him from entering.

"Well, the Detective Inspector doesn't seem to mind too much, might even invite us back. You could talk to him yourself if you're that worried. If I recall correctly, it had been more than a short while since you two have spoken." It gave John more than a little satisfaction to see the small grimace the tall redhead betrayed for a moment before composing himself.

"That's quite alright. I'm sure the two of you will behave yourselves for Scotland Yard. Be sure to give Sherlock my congratulations on solving the cases." It was obvious the small blond man was not going to let him into the flat, so he left, the door clicking closed in his face too soon. After returning home from duty 3 years ago, John had become quite cheeky. If at least more so than when they were children.

His car was waiting for him downstairs, his assistant Anthea in the backseat, scrolling through emails and texting as she waited. Their relationship had changed quite a bit over the last 14 years as well. His final year he had stopped letting his emotions carry him away, and that included her knack for encouraging him. Their paths crossed only a few times during university, and eventually he hired her as his assistant, and though they were polite, they were no longer friendly as they'd been through their childhood.

"Any missed calls?" He signaled his new driver to drive home.

"No, but you have an email from the Prime Minister, doesn't seem urgent. I also just ordered your dinner. Before you ask, yes, it's under 900 calories, and I skipped dessert. It should arrive at your door in exactly 17 minutes."

"Thank you, Anthea." He recieved a small nod before she went back to texting. Gazing out the window, he began making a mental checklist of his day for tomorrow. It was supposed to rain tonight, so he'd run on the treadmill in the morning, perhaps a grapefruit for breakfast, four more debriefings throughout the day and he would have to order a demolition crew for that old school building, a clean up crew would be too suspicious so he might as well just knock the place over. Later he had golf and lunch with a few heads of state, then a trip to Downing Street that would probably keep him late, as usual. At some point he wanted to schedule a hair appointment, his curls were beginning to bounce back.

With a deep sigh, Mycroft dug his secondary work phone from his pocket, flipping through a few surveilance photos of his brother and John at a crime scene the night before. The Detective Inspector was in a few, looking extremely exasperated with Sherlocks antics, and he smiled to himself, just a small one. The man had gone very grey, it seemed to run in John's family at an early age.

As they drove up the long driveway, Mycroft put his phone away and grabbed his umbrella. His dinner would arrive in 3 minutes, and after he ate his meal he decided he would take a bath. On his way out of the car he made eye contact with his driver, who smiled knowingly and tipped his hat at him. He also made a note to deal with that later before heading inside.

 

*****

 

Across town, a certain Detective Inspector was also just getting home to his small flat after a long day. He kicked the door open gracelessly, his arms full of the takeout bags he'd picked up for dinner before sighing into his small, dark, empty flat.

'The bachelor's life,' he thought to himself, shaking his head. Finally he had worked up the nerve to get rid of his ring. For months he'd kept it on, hoping his wife would come to her senses, then hoping she would come home, and then when she had come home he'd realized it was pointless. She didn't love him, and she would never stop cheating. He almost blamed his mother for the type of women he fell for, but she'd really tried with him. She hadn't always done the right thing, but she had tried.

Now he'd been moved in for 4 months after the divorce was finalized, and his things were still in boxes scattered around the ratty futon he bought online. He lived in a shithole.

At least work was going well. He was overworked, but a miraculous thing had happened. His cousin, John had popped into the station to say hello, and Sherlock Holmes had waltzed in and solved the case he had been working on for weeks, in less than five bloody minutes. He more or less remembered from his brief stay with the Holmes as a kid that they'd been smart, but 14 years later the reminder had caught him totally off gaurd.

He tried not to think about that family too often. It hurt too much. But with Sherlock hanging about now, his mind wandered to what Mycroft was doing these days... He found it doubtful the other had gone off and gotten married like he had. Probably got into any university he'd set his mind to, off in the world making money as a genius. Maybe had a hot boyfriend... or girlfriend, who knows.

Grabbing a beer from his otherwise empty fridge, Greg sat on the futon with his takeout, just staring at it forlornly now. God, he was depressed.


	2. Discussions In Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's talk about S E X, kids.

 

Mycroft was a creature of habit. The same, day in and day out. Completely mundane to the observer. To the outside world he was boring.

Of course, his job had its own thrills that would get most people's adrenaline pumping, but he was used to it. It didn't phase him, and that's why he was so good at it.

But some days he needed a little something extra. Sometimes it was a security check in, others he needed something a little more hands on. These feelings were usually fleeting, and easily sated. Mycroft had little problem finding a willing partner when he wanted one.

In university he had tried a few times, but most university boys were all fumbling hands and tended to brag, so that hadn't lasted long. Gay bars weren't really his scene, but they were useful every once in awhile for one time flings, no strings attatched and no one knew who he was.

But, being a creature of habit, he had developed one irritating inclination; his drivers. Now, the men hired to drive him were very discreet, and being a minor government official, they were also doubled as bodyguards more often than not, so they were often quite fit.

These "affairs" never happened more than a handful of times, spaced out over months, with the express directions that they were transactions, nothing more. A release, with no emotional attatchment, and never mentioned until a repeat performance was needed. So far he had only had one that hadn't understood these conditions, which was regrettable because he had been fantastic. Tall and muscular, with blonde hair. A war veteran with scars and an American accent, he had been strong enough to lift him completely off the ground and pin him against a wall. But after the third or fourth time he'd begin making advanced in public, so Mycroft had been forced to release their contract. The one after him had been dark skinned and wiry, with stamina that lasted ages, and a heavy French accent. After that another blonde, none too bright, but with an amazing mouth.

Since then it had been almost six months, but the glances his new driver sent him were not warranted. He'd made absolutely no proposition to the brunette, he didn't care much for brown hair, but kept receiving little flirtatious smiles and winks. Perhaps his pattern had been made public. Even Anthea started to notice.

The driver had to go.

 

*****

Greg sat at the pub after his shift. It had been a long day, and one of his officers had teased him about the lack of a girlfriend. Not that he usually cared. His ex-wife and he had had a sexless marriage the last 3 or so years, so it'd really just been him and his own hand.

There was a cute young thing across the bar making eyes at him, and he couldn't tell if it was meant to be flirtatious, or if he recognized him from the precinct. He sent a nod in the boys direction and got nothing more than an eyebrow raise before he turned away. Figures.

It'd been a long time since he had been with another man. He had last fooled around with another boy when he was 19, but the woman he dated afterward, and eventually married, had hated the fact that he was bisexual, so he'd kept that part of himself a secret from everyone. He was greying and getting thicker at the middle as he pushed 30 though, so he doubted anybody would want him soon.

Sometimes he felt himself getting jealous of couples he saw. Even John and Sherlock. They fought constantly, and even John seemed to think his partner was a complete bastard sometimes, but it was obvious that they loved each other. Even when he was married he hadn't been able to tell if his wife liked him.

Greg dragged himself away from those thoughts, he knew that they would lead nowhere good. He just needed a good old fashioned tumble in the hay, and he'd be right as rain! He glanced around the bar again, but it was obvious that he wouldn't find anyone.

Tossing back the rest of his drink, he set his money on the bar and grabbed his coat to leave.

 

*****

 

It had been a long week and Mycroft felt utterly drained. His temples were throbbing in pain, and his knees hurt from all the rain. He dreaded what that meant about how old he was. Again he glanced in the mirror to check his hair. It was beginning to thin. He asked himself if he was vain enough for implants and decided against it.

He needed to relax, let off some steam. Even his exercise routine wasn't doing it for him recently. Looking back out the window, he caught sight of a familiar man with salt and pepper hair, lighting a cigarette as he exited a pub. Gregory Lestrade. Of all the people he kept tabs on, DI Lestrade was the one person he never looked into. He denied even to himself that it was because it was painful to think about for nearly a decade, but around 5 years ago he had seen the newly appointed Detective Inspector at the hospital and it had shocked him to find out he was living in London. He Didnt get far in his digging when he saw that he was also married. The woman was pretty enough, with strawberry blonde hair and a round face, but he hadn't enjoyed seeing them together. It had irritated him. So he preferred not to check up on the DI.

But, for old times' sake he pulled out his secondary phone and began pulling things up. Work schedules, pay rate, address, just the usual things. And what looked like... Oh, divorce papers. Filed just over a year ago, finalized almost 5 months ago. Interesting. He seemed to be living in a small flat, alone now. Mycroft told himself these were good things to know since his brother was working with the man. Told himself that DI Lestrade must be lonely. That they had been friendly once. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to reach out, maybe catch up. 

That's what he told himself.


	3. A Night Out

-3 Weeks Later-

Gregory Lestrade was just leaving the precinct for the day when his phone buzzed. He didn't recognize the number, but opened it and sighed heavily anyway. It wasn't unusual for him to get texts from the same person on random phones lately.

'Emergency. Come to 221 B. -SH'

Sherlock had been starting to get on his nerves. No, 'starting' would imply that he hadn't before, but Sherlock had always been more than a bit annoying.

'On my way.' He signaled for a cab and tipped them extra to get him there quickly. No need to take a police car, most of Sherlocks 'emergencies' had nothing to do with him actually being an officer.

At the door he was stopped by Mrs. Hudson. "What are you doing here?"

"Sherlock texted me. He needs help or something, I dunno," he responded, trying to scoot past her.

"Well, going up there won't help him much," she scoffed.

"Whatchya mean?"

"He's not up there. He and the doctor left about an hour ago, stomping down the stairs, off to do God knows what."

He looked up the stairs in confusion. "Oh. Alright. Well he said to meet him here, so I guess I'll just go pop in upstairs." She waved her hand at him in dismissal as he continued up the stairs. When he got to the door it was open. She must have heard them come home.

Opening the door to their sitting room, he glanced around. The place was littered with news clippings and such as usual, 'experiments' on every surface. But no one in sight.

"Hello?" he called out. "Sherlock? John?"

"Hello, Detective Inspector."

Greg jumped nearly out of his skin at the smooth deep timbre that came from the corner behind him. The man rounding the corner from the kitchen was tall and thin, dressed very neatly in an expensive light grey suit with a silk blue tie, and an umbrella in hand. His nose was long and his eyes were an icy blue, framed in pale lashes that matched his neatly styled red hair. His mouth was twisted in an almost wry smile, halfway there. It took seeing those lips for it to click in Greg's mind.

"Mycroft? Bloody hell, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" He clutched his chest both playfully and somewhat seriously. This was the last thing he'd expected when coming here today.

"I apologize, it was not my intention."

He let out a deep breath before looking up to meet the man eyes again. It had been ages. Mycroft had thinned out a lot more since he'd last seen him, almost hadn't recognized him this way. He looked great though.

Mycroft felt the appreciative gaze and cleared his throat. Gregory had changed, but he already knew that. What surprised him was his voice. It was much gruffer than when they were young, most likely from years of smoking. His clothes were wrinkled, obviously it was the same one he'd worn the day before, he had to have woken up late this morning. Which meant his alarm was broken, and judging on the time of day Gregory often left for work his the sun must've woken him up, so his bedroom window faces-

He cut off his line of thought. Deducing was Sherlocks thing, he felt that it made him seem pompous when he did it though. "Please, sit."

Greg sat down almost immediately at the authoritative tone, blinking at his own automatic response. "So, Sherlock call you here as well?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes internally. How daft had Gregory gotten? Had the early greying affected his brain as well? But, he decided to play along for the moment. "Yes, but it appears he isn't home. I was going to leave, but seeing as both of us were called here, it must be important." He sat on the other end of the sofa, crossing his long legs lithely.

After a long silence, with Greg glancing out of the corners of his eyes at the older Holmes, he cleared his throat. "Its, uh, it's been a long time. Almost didn't recognize you. You seem well..." He trailed off awkwardly, scratching the back of his head and looking away again.

"Oh yes, I've worked hard to keep the weight off. You seem different as well."

"You mean 'old'," he chuckled. "I'm all grey and weathered now."

"Weathered? I'd say 'experienced'." He watched with satisfaction as Gregorys face turned red. "I heard about your divorce. I'm sorry."

Greg tried to shrug nonchalantly, but his shoulders sagged a bit in defeat. "Yeah, it sucks. But we weren't happy, there was no point to it any more. What about you? Anyone ever lucky enough to convince you to marry them?"

Mycroft caught himself before he could preen under the praise. Instead he raised an eyebrow at the other man, making him blush again. "Marriage? Heaven's no. With my work it's better not to have too many entanglements. It would make me a larger target."

"So you're not even allowed to see anyone? Doesn't seem like a very fair rule."

"I'm not prohibited. I would just rather not. If you'll remember, I was always quite awkward with expressing my feelings."

Greg turned and looked at him in surprise. He hadn't expected Mycroft to bring up their teenage relationship. It was still painful to think about sometimes, the way it had ended. Silence ticked on as they each awkwardly tried to think of a new topic.

"D'you wanna go down the street and grab a drink? Sherlock can text again if he needs us."

Mycroft nodded and stood gracefully, not missing another appreciative look from the Detective. "Yes I'd like that very much, thank you."

Greg grinned and held the door open for the older Holmes as he slipped his coat back on and walked towards the street.

 

*****

 

It was half past midnight and Mycrofts driver was taking them back to Gregorys small flat. They had stayed much longer than intended, and as a result Gregory was a bit sloshed. Mycroft could handle his liquor, but played along with the drunk atmosphere. The DI was being much friendlier and forthcoming with his compliments.

"You have the pr-prettiest lips. Did you know? You were talkin and I was just starin- you look so different! You got so skinny! But I-I had to look at your mouth before I got it. Your lips are the same as when we were kids. You al-always had a great mouth." He waggled his eyebrows, earning an amused snort from Mycroft.

"Well, thank you for the compliment, Gregory."

"We should do this more often."

"Do what?"

"Get drinks. I didn't even know you were in London or I woulda tried to talk to you sooner."

Mycroft paused and looked at the other man closer. Gregory was extremely inebriated, and most likely would not have been this honest if he were sober. All of this suddenly felt like an attack. He had actually tricked this man into going and getting wasted with him, to possibly convince him to sleep with him, for what? This wasn't just about an itch that needed scratched.

When they reached the flat Mycroft helped Greg up the stairs,making sure he didn't trip over his own feet.

"D'ya wanna come in for a cuppa?" he slurred.

"I think I'll pass on that. Thank you though. I had... fun tonight."

A huge grin lit up Gregorys face. "Yeah? Me too. We should, uh, do it again sometime."

"Perhaps next week." He waited until Gregory had the door unlocked and was inside before turning to go back down the stairs. 

"See you then Princess." The door clicked shut before Mycroft whipped around to look at him in shock.


	4. Just Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Mycroft to be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt so much longer when I wrote it on my phone... I hate having tiny little nothing chapters, please forgive me.

If there was one thing Greg Lestrade was good at, it was being awkward as hell. Who the hell knows when that started, he used to be one cocky sunovabitch. Now though, he was staring at his phone as if it had sprouted legs and begun to dance. It lit up for the second time in three minutes with a new text message from a certain minor government official after he didn't respond to the first which had just said "Lunch" with a time and place, and signed M.H.

'Or we could just do drinks if you would rather - M.H.'

Sighing, Greg gripped his leg to stop it from bouncing up and down nervously. Why was he so jittery? It was just Mycroft, they'd been friends as kids. Sure, there was some unresolved issues between them, but they were both adults and could deal with those whenever it came up.

'Drinks is fine. I'm off around 8. - G.L.'

The response was immediate. 'I'll have the car pick you up at 8 then. - M.H.'

"Alright then," he said outloud to himself in his empty office.

The rest of his day passed by in a too fast blur. He ended up spilling coffee on himself and had to roll up his sleeves to cover the stain. He considered running home to change, but knew he wouldn't have the time. He felt silly for it, but he wanted to look good. Here he was, a sloppy mess of a divorcee who spilled coffee all over himself and his cheap shirts, meeting up with Mycroft, who was handsome and neatly groomed and was also the best dressed man he had ever met. And what were they trying to do? Be friends? Catch up for old times sake? Or did Mycroft just need him to spy on his brother for him? Because he may still be that sloppy divorcee, but he was a truthful man and wouldn't spy for anyone.

Though sometimes Sherlock made him reconsider.

He had walked into the precinct, given Greg a once over and just smirked. "You're meeting my brother for drinks later."

"Now how in the bloody hell did you know that?" Greg demanded. How did the Holmes' somehow always know these things?

"Its quite obvious, but I won't bother explaining, it would only hurt you. He'll probably ask you to spy for him." Also, his brother had told him.

"Well, just so you know, if he does ask, I'll say no. I wouldn't spy on anyone for money."

"Then you should ask him for something else." The tone made Greg pause and look back at the consultant, but Sherlock was already busying himself with something else.

"I dunno what you mean by that."

"Yes you do. Look at yourself. You've rolled up your sleeves to hide a coffee stain, you've applied chapstick twice in a half hour, you've been messing with your hair to try and make it look better with some product you keep in your desk, you've even put moisturizer on your hands. You're putting an effort into your appearance, which you haven't really done since you filed your divorce. All that just to turn my brother down? Clearly not."

One of his detectives whistled low and he glared. "Its not like that."

"Yes it is. You've always been attracted to my brother, for some godforsaken reason, and now here's your chance. I'm sure you can convince him to do something for you in exchange for keeping an eye on me, and I don't really mind because I'm smarter than you anyway."

Greg was too stunned to argue with him on the last part. "Are you suggesting he pimp himself out so that I will spy on you for him?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "Duh."

"I am not even going to begin explaining to you all the reasons why that is wrong. Get out of my precinct." Sherlock looked like he was about to start arguing. "Now."

John, who had been absolutely no help the entire time, other than giggling to himself, had to coax Sherlock into leaving with him. Otherwise it looked like Greg was about to burst a blood vessel. The bloody nerve of that man! Traipsing in here and accusing him if trying to sleep with Mycroft Holmes!

'Well, if the offer was there...' a small voice said in his head, making his face turn so red that he went back into his office just to hide it.

When did he become so damn awkward?

 

*****

 

It was exactly 8 o'clock when Mycrofts car pulled up to the curb where Gregory Lestrade was standing. He smirked to himself when he saw Gregory had made an effort to impress with his hair.

Greg awkwardly folded himself into the car. "Thanks, for the, um, lift."

"You're quite welcome. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I thought we could clear the air."

"Oh I see. I suppose you're right."

"Yes. I thought a few drinks might help the process."

"You make it sound like a bad thing..." Greg felt the dread wash over him. He had no idea what terrible thing could be in store for him, but seeing as Mycroft was a pretty influential man he knew it couldn't be good.

Mycroft saw the look pass over him and tried to be reassuring, going the extra step to even laugh. "Oh no, nothing like that. I just meant to smooth some tension. You were very chatty the last time we got a drink, I thought it might be helpful."

Relieved, Greg relaxed into the seat and looked over at his new drinking companion. He was wearing a dark blue suit today, with a burgundy tie and pocket square, gold cufflinks and tie clip. Everything about the way he was dressed, the way his hair was styled, the way he sat even, exuded elegance and confidence. The man before him was nothing like the young boy he had once known, at least on the outside anyway. This was a man that when they met at Sherlocks flat, the tone in his voice alone had made Greg sit and listen without argument. This man spoke, and everyone obeyed. He wanted to obey. Shivers ran down his spine just hearing that voice. And the icy eyes that went with them, now pretending to look out the window, but were watching him like a hawk from the corners of his eyes. He could feel as he watched, those eyes watching him back. It was unsettling, but also thrilling.

The car ride was short. When they arrived, an attendant opened the door for them, and Greg followed Mycroft out. They building was very posh, and everything, and everyone, looked very expensive. He vaguely recalled this as a five star something or other hotel with multiple levels dedicated to entertainment. The fourth floor was where they went, the bar. It had high ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that were dark enough to keep the room dim so the lighting inside could work it's magic. They sat at the far end of the bar, where there were less people, which was perfect with Greg. He felt like a fish out of water in such a nice place. Not that he hadn't been to nice places before, but he felt a little underdressed as he took off his coat.

Mycroft watched Greg as he took his coat off, draping it over the chair instead of giving it to the coat attendant when they walked in. The shirt he was wearing was one of his betters, light blue and grey striped, with the sleeves rolled up. Unusual for Gregort to roll his sleeves, but it was a nice view of his arms. They were very nicely toned, looking even better with the sleeves tucked around his elbows. And his hands were large, very strong, the kind of strength that's almost scary, even if you know he'll be gentle. But gentle wasn't Mycrofts style.

Gregory had changed so much. He hadn't had as much of a growth spurt as Mycroft had, instead he was muscular, broad shouldered, gruff from smoking. His boyish charm had turned into a strong jawline and a cocky smirk. His hair had gotten much darker before being peppered with grey, which oddly suited him. There was two days worth of stuble along his jaw, and Mycroft bet it would feel great scratching against his skin... He still had kind eyes though, and a genuine smile. It was comforting, at least a little bit.

After Mycroft ordered them some type of expensive brandy, he began with the questions.

"So, Gregory, tell me, why did you move back to London?"

"That's really what you want to know? You could've found that out faster than I could tell you."

"Very true, but I'd rather hear it from you."

Greg sighed. "Well, it was for work mostly. But also, my wife, Angela, and I had just gotten married at the time, and she had always wanted to move to London. So we decided to move, saved up enough for a nice little brownstone. It was really nice for awhile... but after four or so years I guess she was bored. Bored with me, bored with the house, bored with London. She got the house, sold it, dunno where she is now. I heard she's already engaged to a new fella, but it's not really my business anymore. Sorry, that's a bit more than you asked for..." He laughed humorlessly into his tumbler as he took a sip, the dark liquid burning pleasantly down his throat.

"Its quite alright. You always were an open book."

"Not with everyone. You just always knew how to read me." He felt those icy eyes bore into him again as they really looked at him. It felt as though they could stare into his soul.

"Maybe we should talk about that as well. We haven't seen or spoken to each other in 14 years, I think it's time." 

"I mean, there isn't much to tell is there? We were kids. We really liked each other, but it had to end eventually. And I knew how you felt about trying to make a long distance thing work. It was painful. It actually really sucked. But I think we turned out alright, don't you?"

"My, my, aren't you optomistic?" Mycroft chuckled, signaling the bartender to refill their glasses, not taking his eyes off Greg. "I'd say we turned out more than alright. And you're right. We were just children, discovering ourselves. But we're adults now, perfectly capable at handling these things." He sipped his drink, watching him over the rim of the glass.

"You have changed so much. You're much more confident now. I like it, it suits you." Greg earned a smile, and smiled to himself at the small victory.

They sat and chatted for almost 2 hours before Mycroft could feel himself change from impatient to bored. He had gotten the neccesary information about Gregorys marriage, he obviously wasn't still inlove with the woman, and had moved on. And judging on the reactions he displayed, he was also still attracted to him.

"Gregory." Greg looked up sharply as that tone of authority rang in his ears again. "I have a confession to make."

"Go on."

"That night we saw each other, at Baker Street was not coincidence. I've known you were in London for some time now, and I set it up for us to bump into each other."

Greg didn't respond, just nodded, unsure what to say.

"I apologize for lying to you. I wanted to reach out and see how you felt after all these years, and I thought it was better if we met on accident. But, I thought it best of I was completely honest. When you were drunk last time we went out, I had every intention of taking advantage of you."

A few seconds ticked by before a full and boisterous laugh rang across the room. Greg covered his mouth with a napkin, coughing to cover the laugh. "Really? You, Mycroft Holmes, schemed to take advantage of the poor, powerless, drunk Detective Inspector? I'm sorry, it just all sounds too cheesey when you put it that way."

Mycroft chuckled a little as well. "Yes, I suppose it does. But, it is true. I had hoped to convince you to form an arrangement with me." His voice got lower and he looked down, his pale eyelashes sweeping his cheeks for a moment. Greg's breath came a bit faster for a moment.

"You mean because of your job? You prefer casual? No strings?"

"Exactly, yes. It keeps anyone from trying to target me, and even I have itches that need scratched sometimes. I had hoped to get you to scratch them for me."

Greg finished his drink and set the glass down, pushing it away. "Instead, you thought it would be easier to get me drunk."

"I realize it wasn't the best idea, and it was more than a little invasive-"

Greg leaned in, the brandy making him bolder than he'd felt in nearly a decade. "You could've just asked."


	5. Two Consenting Adults

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long, guys. I could not get into this scene. I wanted it to be like 90% more intense than it ended up being! but hopefully some of you will like it.

Greg closed the door to his flat, sighing deeply and sinking down against the wall to the cool floor. It couldn't even be past midnight, but he felt like the night had gone on for hours. That brandy must've been quite strong as well. He was just slighlty overheated and his limbs felt both light and too heavey at the same time. He smiled to himself. It might have felt like a long night, but it was a good one.

It had surprised him when Mycroft had finished his drink and told him that there was a room reserved upstairs. It had surprised him when he'd agreed. Even more surprising was when he had crowded Greg up against the wall inside the elevator and kissed him. But, what hadn't surprised him was the phone call not a moment later. Mycroft had huffed softly in annoyance and answered his phone. Regretfully he'd had to leave, it was something urgent, and Greg hadn't questioned it. The car ride was just barely awkward, neither of them saying much, but just before Greg had gotten out of the car, Mycroft had pulled him back and kissed him again with those soft, warm lips.

And oh, what a kiss it was. He could've melted forever in that kiss, but he knew he had to leave so Mycroft could get back to work. He could still feel the ghost of that kiss, where the cold air had rushed to his skin when they parted, his heart still thudding in his chest. He wouldn't exactly call that night a date, but if that was 'drinks' with Mycroft, he wanted to have them again soon.

He hadn't really thought about their time together in years. Mycroft had always had an effect in him, been able to make his mouth water and his knees weak. And now, with all the confidence on top of that, he was irresistable. Roughly shoving him against the wall, kissing him hard, hands gripping at his shirt- damnit, he had an erection now.

Reluctantly getting up from his seat on the floor, he decided a long, hot shower and sleep would do him some good.

 

*****

 

It was five days before Greg heard from Mycroft again. He felt ridiculous, checking his phone every five minutes, too nervous to send a text first. When he finally heard from him, it was... underwhelming. It just read 'Dinner? -M.H.'

He was at a crime scene at the time, so instead of answering, he put it back in his pocket and went about his business. After the crime scene, there was paperwork, a heated discussion over croissants versus doughnuts, a trip to Barts, an impromptu arrest for solicitation, and by the time he checked his phone again it was dark out, and almost everyone had gone home for the day. In 6 hours he had a missed call and 11 messages. The call was from his landlord, something about needing to check the pipes in his flat, 2 texts from his ex saying something about finding some of his things, a message from a coupon site, and the last 8 texts were from Mycroft.

'Or would you prefer coffee? -M.H.'

'We could do drinks again. Same place as last time? -M.H.'

'We wouldn't be interrupted again, I've made sure of it. -M.H.'

'Its a little rude to ignore texts. -M.H.'

'You shouldn't be having doughnuts, your blood sugar is bad enough already. -M.H.'

'That woman is very obviously a prostitute. -M.H.'

'Oh good, you're arresting her. Be sure to bring the cuffs later. -M.H.'

The last one was only a few minutes old. 'I'm sending the car for you now, meet me in room 1208 when you arrive. -M.H.'

Greg felt a shiver run down his spine. Mycroft wasn't even trying not to be scary right now. He knew that Mycroft could know just about anything at any time with his position, but to actively have watched him? It was a bit terrifying... But also thrilling. And he left absolutely no room for argument. A small voice in the back of his head told him to run from that, it was dangerous.

Pushing aside the voice, Greg stood and put on his coat, walking briskly out of his small office as he texted back.

'Can't wait. -G.L.'

 

*****

 

The car ride was short and Greg tapped his fingers on his thigh nervously, even after he entered the lavish and brightly lit hotel lobby. The room key had already been waiting for him in the car luckily, because he wasn't sure if he had the nerve to approach the woman at the counter with her bright red lipstick and plastic smile. The elevator felt cramped and too hot, even with him being in it alone. Loosening his colar slightly he let out a long breath and tried to calm himself. There was no need to be so nervous. It was just Mycroft. The same Mycroft he had walked in on while masturbating when he as 16. The same Mycroft who had blushed and refused to meet his eyes after their first kiss.

But, he wasn't the same. This Mycroft was bold, he had power, and he wasn't afraid of taking charge. It was both sexy and terrifying.

Greg followed the intricately designed carpet to room 1208. His hand clenched and unclenched nervously for 7 minutes before reaching out and gripping the cool brass door handle, swiping his key. The foyer was dark, and he could dimly see the outline of the overstuffed furniture in the main room. Light spilled out of a door leading off to a seperate room. The air smelled like the lavender sitting in vases around the room. Taking his coat off, he put it over the back of a chair as he walked towards the doorway.

The room was softly lit with a double king size bed with white and beige patterned linens. In a stuffed chair to the left Mycroft was sitting and sipping a dark amber liquid from a cut glass tumbler in a grey and maroon suit. He looked up with a smile and nodded to the other tumbler sitting on the minibar, already poured for him. Soft jazz played somewhere in the room.

The atmosphere was... odd. Quiet. He didn't want to break it, so he nodded in thanks and crossed to the bar, taking a deep drink, letting it burn down his throat pleasantly.

Mycroft watched him with a small smirk behind his glass, and sharp eyes. The way Greg's slightly too tight shirt rippled over his arms and back, dark grey slacks hugging his ass. He had been waiting to see him for three days, and now he just wanted to sit and watch.

"It took you long enough to come in. I wondered if you had changed your mind."

Greg poured himself another drink then turned and leaned against the bar, loosening his tie. "I was... nervous. It's been a decade and a half and you still wreck me." His voice was low and throaty, and it made the redheads skin tingle like a million firecrackers. That could also be from the four glasses of scotch he'd drank while waiting, but the look he was getting from those dark brown eyes made him want to shiver.

"There's no reason to be nervous. We're just two consenting adults, who plan on spending the night together. If you change your mind at any point, don't be afraid to tell me. Now, strip."

There was surprise written on Greg's face for a moment before he laughed loudly. 

"Wow. That was rehearsed. I'm gonna guess you've said that to more than a couple of younger, impressionable men." He took a sip of his drink and it was Mycroft turn to look shocked. "You Holmes ain't the only ones who can deduce things. And if you want me to strip for you, you're gonna have to work for it."

"I see." He stood and set his glass on a small end table, unbuttoning his suit jacket. "What would you like me to do for you?"

His eyes glanced up and down him, finished his drink, and set it down behind him before sitting on the side of the bed. "Well, how about you start by telling me why it took you five days to reach out to me."

"Oh, well, you know I can't talk about my work. I had to leave the country for a conference, but that's all I can say."

"Good. Then you weren't avoiding me because of any awkwardness?"

"Of course not, I-"

"Then get over here," Greg chuckled, patting the bed beside him and leaning back. Mycroft faltered for a moment before strolling to the edge of the bed, stopping right at Greg's knees. Electricity crackled between them as Greg grinned up at him, body relaxed, open, Mycroft staring down at him, eyes raking over his body, remembering the sweet spots he used to enjoy. His fingers reached out and trailed over Greg's shoulder and collar, down to grip his tie, pulling him up as he bent down, lips meeting him halfway. 

The tension melted in the room as their lips began to move together, Mycrofts knee coming up into the bed, pressing between Greg's thighs, making the other man huff softly through his nose in pleasure. Everything was both frantic and relaxed as hands pushed clothes off onto the floor, mouths moving together. Soon, they were both just in their pants, Mycroft straddling Gregs lap, biting at his jaw. Fingertips traveled along chests, hips, spines, reading each other like braille. 

Greg tried not to stare, but for him this whole situation was eerie. This man was tall, and thin, but with the same soft pale skin as that awkward fumbling teenager. The freckles that dusted across his shoulders, a small birthmark on his side, the pattern of three small moles above to pelvis. So different, yet so nostalgic. 

To Mycroft though, he felt like he was exploring a while new persons body. He didn't think about what had once been, had blocked it. Greg was much more toned than he'd realized. Where he had expected to find a soft, fattened belly from years of going to the pub and being complacent with fatty fried foods, he found a muscled abdomen. Nothing extreme, but it was obvious that Greg did put some effort into staying fit. His mouth traveled down the man's chest, softly biting little marks until he reached his navel, hooking his thumbs into Greg's pants and pulling them down his legs until they joined the trousers on the floor. He was pleased when he saw that Greg was indeed enjoying himself, if his thick, half mast cock was any indication. Continuing his kisses down along his hip, his right hand snaked around to grip the cock gently and begin a short but rather quick rhythm. Greg moaned quietly below him, reaching to run a hand through that red hair.

Mycroft looked up and watched him as he nibbled along Greg's thighs. Greg's chest was heaving, back stretched, head thrown back as he panted. The sight lit a fire in his belly and made his hand move faster before his lips moved back up his chest to kiss at his throat and jaw.

"Don't lose it yet. We have a whole night ahead of us." He leant down and nipped his chin, giving him one last hard tug before letting go.

Greg let out a sigh and grinned up at him. "Oh trust me, I'm gonna make this last." Grabbing the slender man by his hips and hooking his foot behind his knees he flipped them. Mycroft looked a little surprised for a moment and then pleased. "So, its been a while since we were giving each other hand jobs in the kitchen pantry. Are there any... changes in taste since then I need to know about?" He ran his hands softly over his chest and down his sides, kneading his thumbs in circles over his hips.

Mycroft looked gorgeous as he hummed in pleasure at the massage. His pale skin against the beige duvet, red hair just the right side of messy. "Well, I think it's safe to say there's less need to be as gentle with me as before. Much less gentle."

Raising a brow, Greg grinned. "I see. And, uh, let me take a wild guess that a powerful member of the British government such as yourself likes to be pushed around a little in private?" All he got was a little smirk in answer before he squeaked in surprise as Greg flipped him onto his stomach and smacked him hard against his ass, earning a husky moan.

Now, Greg wasn't a rough man usually. He prefered to use a softer touch the majority, but if his partner was happy then so was he. So if Mycroft wanted rough, he could give that to him. So even if his movements were rough, he kept his hands gentle.

Pulling Mycroft up by his hips so he was up on his knees, he used his other hand to push him down between his shoulders, against the bed. "Stay down," he growled, pulling Mycroft right wrist back and holding it against his lower back, making him squirm in excitement. Trailing kisses down from there to his tailbone, his other hand spread his cheeks, licking a thick strip across his hole. He continued to kiss and lick there, releasing Mycrofts wrist and reaching around to stroke him as well. It didn't take long before Mycroft was a moaning mess below him, hands gripping at the sheets, pushing his hips back. Everytime he pushed back too hard or moved too much Greg would pull back and give him a swift swat across his ass until he stilled. Once he did he would go back in, kneading his ass and jerking him in the same quick rough rhythm as before. Before long he added a finger, and then a second when Mycroft opened up for him, relaxing into his touch.

"In the- in the drawer," he gasped out, rocking back and moaning as a third finger was pushed in, pace getting quicker. "There's condoms. It'll... ah! Make it less messy- ohhh."

Greg grinned at his scattered speech continuing to finger him as he reached his other hand into the bedside drawer, coming up with a few condoms and some lube. "You came prepared, I see. How were you so sure you could seduce me tonight?" He pulled the condom out and rolled it on with a soft sigh, opening the bottle and drizzling it over Mycrofts entrance.

"You were always easy to convince," he moaned. He whined as Greg pulled his fingers away, rubbing his dick along his crack. "I knew that if you wanted to fuck me all I had to do was ask."

"Alright. Then ask. Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

Mycroft looked back at him and whined. "Please, Gregory, fuck me. I need you to fuck me. Hard."

Easing himself forward, he began shallowly thrusting until he was fully seated. Below him, Mycroft thighs trembled. Loathe as he was to admit it, he had never been able to rid himself of how sensitive he was physically, giving him a higher sex drive, and the need to be manhandled. He sucked in large breathes to steady himself before rocking back into Greg's slow and deep thrusts, releasing them in soft cries of pleasure.

They were just a tangle of too warm body parts, moaning and sweating. Greg pulled him up, wrapping his arms around his torso, one hand toying with his chest, the other back playing at his cock. He kissed along his shoulders and throat, hips rocking hard and deep. Mycroft let himself be lost in the feeling, every other thrust hitting his prostate so he saw fireworks behind his eyelids. At some point Greg heaved him up, pinning him to the headboard, his hips pushed into the over luxurious pillows. His wrists were let go and then their fingers were intertwined there as his partner fucked him, their bodies perfectly fitting together from shoulder to hip.

"Oh god, faster! Please," he gasped, eyes screwed shut. Greg chuckled against his shoulder where he was worrying a mark into his skin and nuzzled against the nape of his neck. 

"As you wish, Princess," he murmered. Leaning back, he pistoned his hips faster. Mycroft gripped the top of the headboard shouting now, his body tensing and stretched out. He was rutting against the pillows and back onto Greg, so close he could taste it. Better than cake or sweets, or any other vice he might have, this rush of adrenaline and pleasure, his heart racing. His entire body went rigid as it all coursed through him and then he was coming. Greg felt him tightening and kept thrusting up into his prostate, gripping his own base so he wouldn't come yet.

Panting, Mycrofts spine relaxed and Greg pulled away from him, laying him across the bed into his back.

"I was right," he chuckled. "That was pretty great." He stretched lazily, a soft smile at the corner of his mouth.

"Pretty great? Not what I was aiming for, but the night's still young. What was that you said about having all night?" He got between Mycroft thighs again, making him open his eyes and his breath hitched in excitement. Leaning down he kissed and licked up the come on Mycrofts abdomen before going back up and kissing him sloppily.

For most of the next hour Greg played with his oversensitized body, sucking him back to hardness, eating him out again, whispering dirty things against his mouth. His own groin began to ache as he ignored it, focusing on his partner instead. 

He was determined to make this last all night.


	6. Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a resolution! Kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, as is my usual MO, been forever. This story isn't quite finished yet, but it will be coming to a close soon. Enjoy this longer chapter.

Mycroft collapsed onto the corner of the bed, his breathing finally settling down as he clutched a towel to his damp body, fingers already starting to prune. Glancing at the clock he was shocked to see it was almost 4 in the morning. In the doorway to the bathroom he could see Greg stretching, his back cracking.

"I take back what I said about you just being pretty great. That, was possibly the best night I've had in ages." After twice more in the bed they had decided on a shower, made it halfway there before they'd had sex on the floor, then once in the bathroom, and again in the shower. Now they were finally clean, and thouroughly exhausted.

Greg grinned a little smugly and finished toweling himself off before pulling on his underwear and climbing into the bed with him. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, your highness," he teased.

Mycroft groaned and swatted away the hand Greg reached out. "Dear Lord, it's been years. You can stop with the princess joke."

"Nah, I think it suits you. You might actually be even more of a princess now than you were before."

"I like you better when you're quiet," he grumbled, finding his own underwear on the floor and slipping on one of the hotels fluffy white robes.

"That didn't seem to be how you felt the last... 6 or so hours. In fact, you're sounding a bit hoarse." Greg threw the come covered pillow from earlier on the floor and pulled back the duvet for them to get under.

Clearing his throat, Mycroft climbed into the bed with him. "You are incorrigible."

"Thank you." Leaning in, Greg kissed him slow and deep, pulling him closer in bed.

Breaking the contact, the redhead glared at him, with no real malice. "That wasn't a compliment. And no more. I'm positively exhausted. Go to sleep."

"Good night then, princess." And the lights went out.

 

*****

 

The next morning Greg Lestrade felt like he had been hit by a train. His whole body ached, like after a really good workout. He had gone off more times just last night than he had in years. The clock beside him said it was nearly 9 a.m. and light was spilling into the room from a crack in the hotels thick window curtains. He smiled to himself as he remembered the events of last night, but when he turned over the bed was empty beside him. He quickly went through his clothes and found his mobile. He had a text from 6 in the morning.

'I must head off. Just let yourself out when you're ready. See you soon. - M.H.'

Greg frowned as he got dressed in yesterday's clothes. He had started to keep a spare shirt in his office after a few too many late nights and coffee spills, so that would have to do. He understood that Mycroft was a busy and valuable man, but he was just slightly miffed that he hadn't even said goodbye this morning. Maybe he was stuck in the mindset of someone who'd been married too long. Not that his wife had said goodbye, or hello, or even a 'how are you' to him in over 3 years.

Luckily the commute to Scotland Yard wasn't too bad on him, and he was able to easily slip into his office and change his shirt before anyone noticed.

Unluckily, the other Holmes brother came into the precinct about halfway through his day, and that smug little bastard had taken one look and begun to laugh. Greg refused to speak to him after that and spent the rest of the day going over paperwork he had been procrastinating on in his office.

The next 2 weeks ended up being insane. Reoccurring reports of arson underneath bridges, dozens of homeless were being murdered, an attack on Downing Street, Sherlock ranting about all of them being connected, then dealing with another drugs bust against him because he was more eratic than usual, John giving him an earful about it, and his wife called again. Apparently she found some more of his things, or whatever. He barely had time to shower and eat with the workload he took on, let alone sleep or relax. It was 12 days later that it dawned on him, no contact with Mycroft since their night at the hotel. That in itself was troubling. Flipping through his phone, he checked that last message. It said 'see you soon'... Did that mean Greg was supposed to reach out? Had he waited too long? Would Mycrroft be upset that he hadn't called sooner? Or, did Mycroft know he had been busy and was he giving him space? Was Mycroft busy? Did Mycroft still have that bite mark he had left just at the top of his spine?

Greg shook himself out of that train of thought, looking back to his phone. Surely with the recent attack on Downing Street Mycroft was busy. He didn't know too much about what Mycroft dealt with in his work, but that sounded just up his alley.

Deciding to test the waters, he sent him a text.

'Busy lately? - G.L.'

He wanted to kick himself immediately after hitting send, but the reply was almost instant.

'Constantly. Just arrived back in London. Drinks? - M.H.'

Well, apparently Mycroft wasn't mad.

'Time and place, you name it. - G.L.'

'Same room, a car will pick you up at your flat at 9 tonight. - M.H.'

Greg got a small shiver and grinned to himself. He usually hated pushy people, but his bossy little princess made it fun.

'Sounds perfect. See you then. - G.L.'

 

*****

 

Mycroft put his phone back into his pocket, a small smug smile tugging at his lips as he looked out the window of the car. Anthea gave him a strange look, but said nothing as she arranged his schedule on a tablet beside him as they were driven home. He'd been away discussing foreign expedition agreements for a week and a half and was happy to be home in London once more. Last time he'd seen Gregory they had managed to get in quite a workout, and was excited for a repeat performance. He was jetlagged from the time change, and hopefully Gregory could tire him out enough for him to get some sleep tonight. The marks the shorter man had left had already faded, but he rubbed the back of his neck fondly and hoped for a few more.

By the time he arrived at the hotel it was nearly half past 8, so he sent the car off and headed upstairs to his usual reserved room, ignoring the flirtatious smile of the desk woman on his way. The room was kept to his exact specifications, lavender in the vases instead of the usual floral arrangement the hotel had, heavy black out curtains, the small metal hook in the headboard, minibars stocked with all his brands, a chest of his own personal items slid beneath the bed, and oatmeal shampoo in the bathroom. His dry cleaning for tomorrow hung in the closet for him. Pouring himself a drink, he settled onto the small love seat in the main room and let himself relax a moment as his mind drifted. 

What exactly was he doing with Gregory Lestrade? What was his endgame?

Part of him knew, in the back of his mind that his intentions were not so pure. That he had been waiting for this moment for a decade and a half. But pushing those dark thoughts away, he began thinking about the consequences of his actions.

Mycroft liked sex. Even more than sex, he liked no strings attached sex. Some people were fine with it, while others were not. The Detective Inspector seemed like a nice man, honorable, tended to do the right thing. And he was sweet. And dear lord was he fantastic in bed.

But, would he be able to keep this up? It was very obvious that Gregory was sweet, the kind of sweet that doesn't fit with 'no strings attatched'. The kind of man who fit the description of 'marriage material'. He had always been that way. It was no surprise that woman had snatched him up, even if she hadn't had the sense to keep him.

And of course, knowing this, why was Mycroft pursuing him in the first place? To rekindle a misguided old flame? For, what the voice in the back of his head wanted, revenge? He didn't know. All he did know was that the moment he had seen Gregory Lestrade at St Barts 5 years ago, he had wanted him again, like nothing had ever happened. He wanted that swagger and that cocky smile and those strong hands on him. It had lit a fire inside him and he had wanted to take those things. Take them from that round faced woman and keep them for himself.

Now, he had them. But, could they follow the rules?

Feelings had never been his strong suit, and when he did give in to them, he hated how strong they were. How strong he came on. He was overbearing as a brother, how bad would he be as a boyfriend, heaven forbid.

No, this was exactly why he had his rule. So that he didn't loose himself in another person, and so no one could use anyone against him.

The door clicked as the DI unlocked it and walked in, causing him to come away from his thoughts for a moment, setting them on the back burner of his mind. He sipped his drink as the other man took off his coat and got his own drink before joining him. Gregory smelled like aftershave, the cold and damp outside air, and coffee. They sat and enjoyed their drinks in silence, and when their glasses were empty, Mycroft turned to contemplate him.

"Are you ready to play?"

Greg took their glasses and set them on the glass coffee table before sliding closer, putting his arm around the redhead. "What game would you like?"

"Well, I've had enough of being in charge for one day. Would you mind taking over for me?"

A shiver slid down Greg's spine. Given the fact that Mycroft had the power to snap his fingers and have just about anything done for him, the thought of being the one taking charge was... Compelling. Last time had been different, that had been passion in the moment.

"How 'take charge' would you like me to be?"

"Well, Detective Inspector," he murmured, his fingers lightly tracing along Greg's thigh. "I just happen to have a pair of restraints under the bed, and I've done more than a few bad deeds. Punish me."

Greg's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he glanced at the door to the bedroom. Dirty talk was one thing, but how far was this going to go? But if this is what Mycroft wanted, he'd do it. He would do whatever the redhead asked of him really.

Taking ahold of his wrist a bit tightly, Greg stood, pulling Mycroft with him. He made a small startled noise, but his eyes betrayed how pleased he was. Pulling him even closer, they kissed hard, Greg biting at his lips a little harsher than he normally would, crowding and pushing him towards the bedroom as they kissed. He managed to get Mycroft half undressed, tossing his expensive tie and shirt onto the floor in a rumpled mess and shoving him backwards onto the bed when they reached it. He kept a close eye on Mycrofts reactions to make sure he was doing what the other man wanted. Getting down onto the floor, he lifted the edge of the duvet and saw a black and chrome chest underneath the bed.

All the breath left his lungs when he opened the chest. Inside was a litany of objects, from blindfolds and handcuffs, to ball gags, leather cuffs, a small whip. His fingers ran gently over everything and plucked out the thick leather restraints, knowing those would be less likely to leave bruises than the hard metal handcuffs. When he brought them back up with him, those icy blue eyes were watching him with hunger.

Still fully clothed, he climbed over the other man and silently buckled the restraints over his wrists, hooking them through a metal ring barely hidden in the intricate design of the headboard. His hands traveled down Mycrofts arms when he was finished, barely touching, and continued over his chest and sides until he reached his waist. Mycrofts eyes drifted closed under his ministration and lifted his hips off the bed slightly to help him pull off his trousers. Those and his underwear quickly joined the rest of his clothes on the floor.

Greg watched him, trying to decide all that he wanted to do to him. He started off slow, leaving biting kisses over creamy thighs, watching them bloom red and purple as he sucked them into the skin. He wanted Mycroft to feel him as a reminder every time he sat or crossed his legs. When he was satisfied with the number of bites he'd left, he sat back up.

"Turn over."

Mycroft complied, leaning on his elbows and knees, arching his back prettily, fully on display. Greg continued to admire him, not touching him, until a whine escaped the redhead and he wiggled a little.

"Ah!" He squeaked as Greg's hand came down in a sharp crack against one of his cheeks. It surprised him more than it stung. He moaned afterward, pushing his ass back again and receiving another, harder smack.

"Beg me. Tell me how bad you've been. I want to hear all the slutty little things you've done so you can be punished for them."

Mycrofts cheeks burned in embarrassment and he bit his lower lip. This is exactly the release he needed after the last two weeks. "After our last night, I played with my nipples on the jet out of London. I pinched them too hard and bruised myself. It felt so good that I got turned on everytime anything brushed them," he panted. He was rewarded with two more smart cracks against the bottom of his ass, where his thighs connected. "I once let a man fuck me in the stall of a public bathroom. It was filthy." Three more smacks. "When I masturbate at home I can't come unless there's something vibrating in my ass. Oh god, I'm such a slut," he sobbed. His cock was rock hard and he received five more smacks, these ones the hardest yet.

Greg was still fully clothed, and almost shocked. Again, he loved dirty talk, but there was something inside him that balked at this. His thoughts flashed back unwillingly to memories of their awkward fumblings and heavy petting as teenagers. How much he had changed since then. He didn't think the Mycroft he had known, all peaches and cream skin and soft blushes would've enjoyed being thrashed about like this. But dammit all if he wasn't hard in his pants watching it as if from far away. He felt pangs of jealousy when Mycroft mentioned other men though, and he didn't like his chest betraying him that way.

Mycroft was still going on as he reached into the bedside table drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He warmed the lube on his fingers before abruptly pushing one inside of the skinny man, his words being cut off with a small yelp before he was pushing back against it.

"You know, I'm not as disappointed as I thought I would be after you thinned out. My favorite thing about you used to be how soft you were. But your thighs are still soft, and your ass..." He grabbed a handful, squeezing as his other hand pushed a second finger in, scissoring and curling inside him. "You still have that round, perfect ass that I love."

Panting, the redhead glance back over his shoulder so he could see the appreciative gaze that Gregory gave him. His heart clenched when he saw something else in those eyes, something more than lust. Feelings.

"Don't," he whispered, still pushing back on those fingers, keening when two more were added at the same time.

"Don't what? I thought you wanted me to punish you. That's what I'm going to do." He twisted his fingers, pressing hard into the little bundle of nerves that made him cry out and clench around them. Greg's other hand had moved to unbutton his own shirt and push his pants off his hips. He made short work of stretching him, and rolled a condom on to himself, moaning a little as he released some of his tension with a few strokes. Mycroft gripped him like a vice as he shallowly thrust in until he was fully inside. When he was, he gave him another smack, making him jolt.

“I don't know why,” he continued, slowly thrusting into him, but hard enough to jerk him each time, “you enjoy being treated like a slut. I'm not gonna say you aren't one, because it kinda seems like you are. I just don't get why you do the things you do. You used to blush and hide your face, like you were some kinda delicate virgin before. Now, you let strangers fuck you in bathroom stalls?”

Mycrofts ears burnt red. He didn't want to hear these things, but they only spurred his lust on. His breath caught and he let out a strangled moan as his prostate was rammed. “I-I said don't-”

“Don't what?” Greg smacked his other cheek this time. “Don't talk about it? Keep it quiet, make sure no one knows? You sound like my ex wife.” He pulled Mycroft upright on his knees and put two fingers in his mouth to keep him from talking. He knew he was breaking some kind of unspoken agreement, but a cold rage had washed over his body, making his voice oddly calm sounding. “Did you know that I thought about you for a decade afterward? Whenever I had a problem getting going, I would remember the way you looked, or the sounds you'd make and it made me rock fucking hard. You completely cut me off when I left and it destroyed me. I wrote you letters, I tried calling. Did you know that I came back for University? I had hoped to look you up again, but you were long gone.” Greg reached his other hand down and roughly began to jerk the redhead off. He was moaning loudly now, and saliva dripped down his chin where he couldn't close his mouth. “Do you even care? You weren't really a warm person before, but you're so cold now, a right heartless bastard. I wonder if you even have feelings. But I guess a hole doesn't need feelings, and that's all you are. A hole to be filled.”

There was a sharp gasp and then Mycroft was coming, spasming around Greg's dick and then he was coming too, biting a pale shoulder until there were teeth prints in the skin. Greg let him go, and he sagged down onto the bed, hands still bound and gasping for breath.

Minutes ticked by silently after Greg had thrown away the condom and sat on the edge of the bed, not looking at him. Mycrofts face was pushed into the duvet as he caught his breath finally. Neither one of them wanted to look at the other, one from embarrassment, the other from shock.

“Mycroft… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all that to come out…” Greg was staring at his hands in his lap. He felt empty, like something else had possessed him and made him say those hateful things before leaving him to deal with the consequences.

After a long moment, he was answered. “Yes, you did.”

When they finally looked at each other, there was pain in Greg's eyes, and Mycrofts were softer, kinder than usual. Understanding. “You needed those things to be said. If you didn't say them now, they would have come out eventually. And I needed to hear them.”

“No, you didn't. I don't really-”

“I didn't look you up to reconnect. I didn't look you up to trick you into becoming fuck buddies. I lied. I wanted you. And I wanted to hurt you.” Mycrofts tone was even, and now he looked away from Greg's eyes, not wanting to meet them. “I saw you, at St Bart's a few years back, and I knew I still wanted you. But I was angry. I've always been angry since you left. I stayed away because you were married, and then Sherlock started working with you, and I saw that you weren't married anymore. I don't know why, but I wanted to make you want me again too, so that I could be the one to leave this time. I thought it would heal me on the inside… but I don't feel any better. Everything still hurts.”

They sat again in silence. It seemed to stretch on for ages. Greg didn't know what to feel. He definitely felt betrayed, used, hurt, but he had done the same thing to Mycroft, pretending that it was all some game that he could walk away from and not get attached. And despite how much it hurt, he still wanted him too. Every bit of his common sense told him to get up and leave and never speak to Mycroft Holmes again, but he didn't. Instead, he reached out and touched him, hand landing on his leg, his thumb stroking over the skin slowly. “I get it.”

Mycroft looked at him sharply again, considering. It seemed that Greg did understand him, that for once they were on the same page. They were both still angry, and both still wanting. “Does this make it harder or easier to keep things casual?”

Greg snorted. “I don't think anything that happens between us can ever be called casual. But no, I don't think I can have a casual sex life with you and not want more.”

Those icy eyes bored into him. “I understand. Gregory Lestrade, will you be my boyfriend?”


End file.
